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lies of the righteous

By Azreen MahmoodPublished 2 years ago 3 min read

He climbed each platform of lies treading with confident feet as my eyes scrutinised his movement to pick out one honest patch of skin on his body. None. I was sat on one of the benches with the mute baby (which was a miracle since it never stopped howling, and that made my head pound) while I watched the man deliver a speech full of allusions, religious ones of course, trying desperately to express how the world would be so much better if everyone placed their beliefs on the saviour.

The hairs of his faded peachy moustache were slightly grubby, unkempt as though not brushed for at least two days. Short white hairs on his head were neatly combed backwards. Although, much of it was hidden under the dark ash biretta that he wore. Each time he opened his mouth wide enough to utter some more nonsense that lacked any logic whatsoever, I could see a crooked set of teeth stained yellow, clearly ones of a chain-smoker. It took one to know one, and I was not ashamed to admit it.

Smoking often helped me think and process the reality occurring before me as I inhaled and exhaled the smoke into the air, as though exhaling some of the stress people’s constant chattering put my mind through. Now, one might tell you ‘Oh! But that’s so deathly for you, smoking twice every hour…’ in their false displays of care, but let’s be real. That’s a one in a hundred percent leading cause of death and I sure as hell am not dead yet. So, as his mouth momentarily became the subject of my concentration I couldn't help but think about his contradicting story behind it.

I felt a prick on my arm that diverted my attention. It was the baby’s sharp nails I had forgotten to clip. A muffled groan left her tiny lips warning me she could wake up any moment. This was my hundredth cue to leave…but I just could not coordinate my mind and feet and make them leave. I was curious what else this man of honour had to feed everyone.

He continued with his sermon where he spoke more of faith and how it saves lives (yeah, the saving life again), rulings one must live by to be a proper and good human being, the do’s and don’ts (more like ‘you shall be guillotined’ if you commit this heinous crime of self-expression) and of course establishing the feeling of being a puppet in one’s own beliefs that is supposed to instead be empowering.

In between the supposed preaching and often misogynist lessons, the baby’s soft cries penetrated my ears, soon becoming a loud noise breaking the only comforting silence in the chamber and my feet stomped out of there immediately to avoid any more attention than I had already grabbed onto me. I walked to the backside of the church and waited near the security exit slightly rocking the baby in my arms, which helped to put her back to sleep again.

Isaac came out from the same exit a good fifteen minutes later with his headwear on his hands, fanning himself, and muttered some curses under his breath. He stood beside me while examining me and the baby, ‘Hey, man,’ he finally greeted. ‘Hope that wasn’t too much to bear with.’

I shook my head in a false denial. ‘No.’ I simply lied. ‘It’s alright. Here’s Samantha,’ I said handing the baby to him and he held her as I did, taking her from me. She was draped in the cape he wore that surely warmed her up more than my t-shirt. Isaac pointed for me to place a cigarette in his mouth by tilting his head up a bit and mumbling a ‘mmm’ sound. I did, and lit it with my lighter. After a few seconds I removed it from his lips allowing him to exhale a breath of relief. Or something similar to it. ‘Tell Abigail I said hi.’

He snickered at that. I was not surprised. ‘The baby momma hates you now buddy. And there’s only one thing that you can do to change that.’

I felt a nerve crack somewhere inside me as the word marriage popped in my head again. I ignored it. ‘You’re her brother. I’m sure she wouldn’t kill you to convey a plain greeting.’ I placed the cigarette back on his lips, more so to not have to hear him anymore, than because it was getting shorter. ‘Whatever,’ and we walked away from the church of lies and thoughtless deception of people.


About the Creator

Azreen Mahmood

i write

to make sense of what's wrong around me

to let my emotions find a place

to say there's another perspective, always

if you like what i have to say a small tip would be much appreciated,

thank you for taking the time and interest <3

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    Azreen MahmoodWritten by Azreen Mahmood

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